


No Such Thing As Too Much Wine

by VolxdoSioda



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Obsession, Stalking, assassin!De Sardet, background rape/non-con of a background character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22162561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: De Sardet has a secret. Constantin finds out.
Relationships: Constantin d'Orsay & De Sardet, De Sardet & Other(s), Kurt & De Sardet (GreedFall)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	No Such Thing As Too Much Wine

**Author's Note:**

> "I just want an assassin de sardet," I said. "It'll just be a couple thousand words," I said.

"Is it true?"

Glass to lips, De Sardet can taste the poison hidden there. A wine that was meant for Constantin tonight, and has since been discreetly swapped out for one of De Sardet's own bottles. Nobody but him will know the difference. "Is what true?"

Constantin doesn't look at him directly. His reflection's eyes spear him in the window instead. "That my father raised you an assassin from the age of ten to fifteen." Behind them, the ballroom moves and shifts with bodies like the ocean against rocks; in the reflection he can see Kurt speaking to Vasco, Siora in a heated discussion with de Courcillon, and Petrus speaking to several members of Theleme's senior embassy. Nobody is paying them any attention. Constantin has chosen his moment well.

A pause; a brief interlude. De Sardet sees the pathways of his answers stretch out before him like a roadmap. Say yes, upset Constantin. He can be talked down. He can be made to understand. Nothing further need be said of it. Say no, upset Constantin by lying. Make him suspicious, paranoid, or just plain curious. Expect spying, possible interference on missions later. Or a refusal to let him go if he is called.

He takes another taste of poisoned wine. His tongue tingles. But it will not kill him. "Yes."

Constantin turns his head abruptly. "Yes?" he questions, as if confused. "But--"

Another taste. His throat burns. Weldvine and hawthorne. It will cause him some indigestion later, perhaps a brief stint to the bathroom, and a few aversions to acidic foods until it runs the gauntlet through his body. But it will not kill him. Not like it would dear, sweet Constantin, whose mouth remains untried against various poisons. His body would lock up in seizures. He would choke on his own vomit even as his bowels emptied themselves again and again, until he died. A bad way to go.

"Why did you agree to it?" Constantin whispers at last. "What would make you-- did he threaten you? Is that it? Did he tell you that if you didn't do as he asked, he would whip you, or have you thrown out?"

"No, Constantin. I did it for you."

"What?" Constantin's nostril's flare, eyes as round as the moon outside. Briefly, De Sardet pities him. "But, what they do--"

"Yes. I'm rather like Kurt, in that regard. Both in that I have been hurt, and I have healed from it. I am alive, Constantin. Your father didn't threaten me, or promise to throw me out if I didn't say yes. It was an option, like ballroom dancing or parliament was an option. I said yes because at the time you were five, and still so small, and I looked at you and thought  _ he will die if he does not have someone on his side.  _ And so I took the lesser evil - I swore myself into a Brotherhood, and faced their rituals and trials, and now stand at your side."

Constantin's eyes are suspiciously bright. De Sardet feels his heart clench, but remains facing forward, drinking the poisoned wine drop by drop. He could pour it in a plant, but he knows the people responsible for the poisoning will likely be here tonight, and they will watch him and Constantin drink, and wonder why neither of them are dropping dead yet. Constantin especially. 

"My lucky star. And what are you now? Are you still one of theirs?"

"I will be one of theirs until death, Constantin. They do not let go of their brothers and sisters easily. And especially not of those who manage to make it to the rank of Master in five years." He's one of their youngest, but he carries the title with the respect owed. "The Congregation knows of their existence. In exchange for the Brotherhood keeping their noses out of the Prince's business, I was offered. And I took the offering. Do you hate me now that you know?"

"No. Heavens above, never. I could never hate you. I just wanted to know if it was true. If... if it was like the Nauts, or if this was personal. If you undertook such a dangerous route because there was something you wanted that we could not give you. If I could give it to you now."

"Your safety is what I desire, Constantin. And to that end, do not go near the Dinsmore family tonight. If you must put me between them and yourself, do it. But do not let them near you. And do not leave your drink unattended."

If the way the eldest daughter is watching them - and he really must give her credit, she's aware enough to keep moving and only glance over like she's looking for someone else - the ruse is up. That's fine. He's put down bigger threats than a lone family before, and will put down many more in the future.

"I will do so. Good evening to you, cousin."

Constantin drifts away, but the spot by the window does not remain unoccupied for long. The man that steps into it is tall and lean-faced, black hair drawn back into a horsetail, dressed in dark silks. "So. He knows."

"You will not touch him."

"Won't I?"

"Ansel."

Ansel Liggit, fellow Master Assassin, raises a dark brow at him. "You know our rules,  _ brother." _

"And you know  _ my  _ rules. Touch him, and my help and the Congregation's backing is  _ gone." _

It was a fight, in the beginning. Ansel had demanded he kill Constantin to prove his loyalty to the Brotherhood alone, and De Sardet had thrown down his blade and spat at his feet and left without a backwards glance. Attempts to kill him by younger members were quickly put down; he did not kill them, merely knocking them unconscious and delivering their bodies to the doorsteps of the heads of the safehouses within Serene. When the older members had come for him, he'd done the same.

And then at last Ansel had come, tight-lipped and furious, orders from the Elders clutched in one fist and said,  _ "Your Mastery test will be reset." _

His final test had gone from killing Constantin to killing a black market flesh trader hiding out in the port. He'd passed the test with flying colors, and earned his mastery. But even still, Ansel continued to push for severed ties, for De Sardet to belong to them, and  _ only  _ to them. And so a new stipulation had been added to the contract between the Brotherhood in Serene and the Prince's household. 

If Constantin died by the Brotherhood's hands, it would mean war. Open, violent, and unstoppable war.

And De Sardet would be the one to deliver that war. Beginning to end.

It wouldn't surprise De Sardet if Ansel was the one who told the Dinsmore family where to find Constantin tonight. The Master Assassin viewed his refusal as treachery, plain and open, and so seeks to punish De Sardet for the crime of that treachery, real or imagined. It's why De Sardet has done his best to make so many friends among the islanders, and among the other factions. So that if by some unlucky strike Ansel  _ succeeds,  _ Constantin at least might be spared.

Ansel sips at his flute of wine. "You cannot be by him every second of every day."

"Watch me."

He snorts. "Stubborn. You would be so great, if you would just let this childish obsession of yours  _ go,  _ De Sardet. What does that wet-behind-the-ears brat have that so entrances you?"

De Sardet goes to take another sip of his wine. Stops, as a thought strikes him like a thunderbolt from the blue. He lowers his glass, turns to Ansel, and says, "You're jealous of him."

Ansel is good at concealing his emotions. But he is not court-practiced. His eyes meet De Sardet's and dart away, even as he lies, "Jealous? Surely you must be joking."

De Sardet thinks back to the first day they met. When Ansel had puffed himself up, and thrust his hand out, and introduced himself. And later, when Ansel had lavishly praised him when he'd completed missions gracefully, successfully, in only a third of the time expected. And much, much later, when he'd pronounced his final mission with a relish unexpected, and his face had gone milk-white, eyes dark with rage as De Sardet had turned up his nose and spat at his feet, had forsaken  _ him  _ for Constantin. 

It's so completely obvious. Even now, Ansel loathes Constantin enough to try to kill him, but wants De Sardet's attention - the clothes, fine and sleek, his hair done back in a style he abhors, speaks to that.

"Did you really think I'd ever choose you?" De Sardet asks, letting his contempt drip into his voice as the real reason unfurls itself before him like a banner of bold, gilded lettering. "Did you think if you managed to kill him, I would fall into your arms like some milk maid? That I would wholly accept the Brotherhood, would obey your every whim?"

Ansel's face is turning red, rapidly. He meets De Sardet's contempt with temper. "I am the  _ best  _ thing to ever grace your life, you ungrateful bastard. That pale, washed-out weakling is  _ nothing _ \--"

"He is my sun, my moon, my  _ world,"  _ De Sardet snarls, and Ansel takes a step back, always fearful of his temper. "I did this, I became this monster  _ for him.  _ So he would never need walk in fear for his life. So that I could bring him peace, and happiness, and a life he  _ deserves,  _ you cunt. You think you deserve my attentions? My affections? You think you are  _ owed  _ those things? Let me put it to you bluntly then. If I was doused with aphrodisiacs that would kill me if not fucked out of my system this very moment, I would drop my pants and present myself to everyone else in this ballroom- no, this  _ island  _ for use before I would ever let you have me."

Ansel's lips pull back in the start of a snarl of his own, but De Sardet slashes the air with a hand, and hisses, "I will  _ never want you.  _ You are a vicious bullying brute of a man, and you may have trained me, but I will be  _ damned  _ if that grants you anything against me. Get out, get out and do not come back. If I see you, I will kill you, do you understand? And if you so much as send one agent against Constantin, I will burn you and your precious Brotherhood  _ to ash.  _ I will hunt each and every one of you down, and purge the very continent of your like, so that never again will you have any sort of  _ say  _ in what I do or don't do. Now. Get.  _ Out." _

For a moment, it seems like Ansel is going to refuse. Like he's going to lunge, and De Sardet will have to fight for his life, and everyone in this ballroom will witness the monster he's hiding behind the diplomat's mask. 

And then abruptly, they are surrounded. Constantin has returned, Kurt and Vasco flanking him, along with several burly guards and Naut sailors, all of them radiating a quiet fury. 

"I believe," Constantin says in a silky, dangerous voice. "That my cousin has spoken quite clearly. I suggest you take his advice, and leave while you still have the option to do so."

Ansel takes in the numbers, and then turns on heel and flees. The Nauts and Coin Guard hound him until he's out the door and beyond. In the wake of him, De Sardet feels his adrenaline crash. He tosses the rest of the wine into a nearby plant, and throws the glass after it. He leans his forehead against the window, peering out into the night without really seeing it.

"Cousin?" Constantin whispers, drawing close. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pressing their temples together. Invading as only he is allowed to do. "Do you want to retire?"

"No, not yet." He knows deep down this is going to come back to bite him. Ansel isn't the type to give up easily - Constantin's survival is proof of that. "A bit of fresh air, perhaps. Would one of you accompany me? Not you, Constantin."

His cousin pouts, but Kurt wraps an arm around his shoulders and drags him back, Vasco neatly stepping up beside De Sardet as he turns to head through the doors leading to the balcony.

"I imagine this is going to sound stupid," Vasco starts. "But are you alright?"

"I will be. Ansel... Ansel isn't going to give up easily. He never has. Not with Constantin, and I doubt with me." He rubs a hand over his eyes, collapsing onto the nearby bench. Vasco leans against the wall closest to him, inadvertently hiding him from the party inside. "I'm such an idiot. I call myself a Master Assassin, yet I don't even notice when one of my associates is ready to kill my cousin out of jealousy."

"In your defense, not many people generally leap to extremes such as his. You had no reason to suspect him."

"I knew he was proud. That he wanted my attention. But I always thought he wanted me to notice  _ him.  _ To... praise him, pat him on the back, tell him what a  _ good mentor  _ he was even as he taught me to kill. You know. Arrogance. Not...God, is there even a word for what he wants?"

"Lust?" Vasco offers. "Obsession? There are quite a few words to describe what he wants, but most of them are ugly, and I don’t speak ugly words in polite company.”

De Sardet snorts, Vasco’s lips turning up at the sound. “Ugly indeed. Regardless, it’s out in the open now. Ansel has never been one to swear off, even when it’s the smartest decision he could likely make. If he can’t get me by threatening Constantin, he’ll find another way to try.” 

“He may try as much as he likes,” Vasco tells him quietly. “But I promise you, he will not succeed, De Sardet. We all stand with you on this matter, and if need be-- if need be, we would go to our respective commanders and rally them behind the Congregation to bring down the Brotherhood.”

“I’m not sure they’d go that far for us. We’ve good relations, but what do they stand to gain with the downfall of the assassin’s guild? If anything, they’d stand more to gain by leaving them be.”

“Not quite so, my child.” Petrus neatly steps out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind him. “Pardon my intrusion, but I overheard your words just now. Cornelia at least, would rally behind you because she abhors the Brotherhood. We did not know their name until now, but we have lost several good troops to her - both Ordo Luminus and not. As far as Cornelia is concerned at least, she owes them that payment back in blood. So if you asked and explained, Theleme and her people would most certainly back you. I doubt even the Ordo Luminus would fight very hard - they might even be so bold as to lead the charge, so to say.”

“And the Nauts know a thing or two of these assassins,” Vasco continues. “It’s true we try to keep our noses out of the landdweller’s business, but we all know assassins do not discriminate. If they’ve a target, they will find that target, and they will not be thinking of political balance or other nonsense when they kill. In that way, you are superior to them. Just because you have chosen to undertake the teachings of the killers does not mean you rely on it for every discussion. Not unless you have no choice.”

“Because even though I call myself a monster, I can’t keep Constantin safe if I get myself put down.” Taking his hat off, De Sardet lets out a breath and runs a hand over his hair. “I learned that early. There was another recruit that wasn’t in my squad, but our squads often got together for training and practice sessions. We were together for our first genuine mission - two Masters, eight novices. We were supposed to kill a nobleman and his associate that were supplying the Brotherhood’s enemies with weapons. Seven of us put our heads together, and began plotting a way in through the back, and went over the various exits and entrances, in case something went wrong and we needed to run quickly. The other recruit decided being an assassin meant he could easily inspire terror in someone just by showing up, and so he took the front door as his entrance. Walked in, bold as you please.”

Vasco and Petrus clearly know where the story is going, but they do not interrupt.

“Well, the associate was cowed, but not our nobleman. He put two bullets in the novice’s kneecaps before he’d put more than a step forward. We didn’t even get a chance to get in and finish the jobs because the guards were called. We had to go to ground for three months after that, because the guard hunted for us relentlessly - our cocky novice sung like a canary when they demanded answers.”

Vasco’s face makes it clear what he thinks of  _ that.  _ De Sardet sighs again. “And so we learned a hard lesson. Even if you are the most fearsome of monster, somewhere out there in the world there are men and women who will not fear you, and will happily cut you down to size if you try to threaten them. We might have numbers, but if we all went charging in like that, we’d be overrun in no time.”

“Your Ansel rather strikes me as the sort to charge in like that,” Petrus remarks, peering off into the distance as the door opens behind him, Aphra poking her head out to check on them. She disappears back inside and says something to Constantin, who is doing his best not to look like he’s watching their conversation.  _ Precious idiot,  _ De Sardet thinks with no small amount of fondness. 

“He is, unless he realizes he’s outnumbered. Then he becomes a snake in the grass, so to speak. He’ll take any opportunity given. Which is what makes it so hard to predict where he’ll aim next. Despite what I said to him, he did have one point - I can’t stay here and be with Constantin every second of the day. And as much as I trust Kurt, I don’t trust the Coin Guard. If I didn’t think it would kick up a fuss that would carry all the way back to the Continent, I’d bring Constantin with me. He would certainly love the opportunity to get out on an adventure or three.”

Both Vasco and Petrus smile. “It might prove a bit… lively at camp, for certain,” Petrus says tactfully, even as his eyes sparkle. Vasco chuckles. 

“To put it mildly. I daresay we’d all be well drunk and completely off our damned rockers by the end of the first evening.”

“He isn’t so bad,” De Sardet smiles. “And he’s not the sort of run roughshod if you tell him you aren’t interested. But yes, he would certainly be happy about getting out for once. Maybe I should do it anyway. Say it’s to let him see his island.”

“I doubt that will work.” Kurt steps out onto the balcony. “As much as Constantin might enjoy being kidnapped by you, having both of you beyond our grasps is about a good idea as jumping off a roof to prove you can fly if you believe it. Constantin will have to stay here.”

“As much I figured.” He meets Kurt’s eyes, and finds none of the contempt or pity he feared. “So. Birds of a feather, aye?”

“Aye,” Kurt says softly. “You little idiot.”

De Sardet shrugs. “Guilty enough. Any ideas?”

“Other than barricading you up with Constantin and hoping he loses interest?”

“He won’t. You know he won’t. We’ve all seen his kind before.”

“I know, and I hate that. I hate that I know  _ him  _ just by that. But most of all I hate that this bastard has his eyes on  _ you _ \- you’ve worked so damned hard to bring peace to this island and its people. You don’t deserve this.”

“Does anyone ever really deserve something like this?” De Sardet offers. “All we can do is ride it out. Maybe he will lose interest. Maybe the Elders will notice and rope him in.”

“And maybe Hikmet will surrender and let Theleme run the island,” Petrus mutters. “Come along my child, you know that is not how this dance goes.”

De Sardet smiles, polite, utterly affable, and puts his hat back on as he stands. “I know.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

For a time, De Sardet remains in New Serene, close to Constantin. His cousin appears to cheer at the news, noticeably brightening whenever he enters the room to speak about something or other and borrowing Constantin’s office to sort through a few documents that need it. The piles don’t get as big as they did back at the beginning of his arrival, but they still must be kept up with, or he risks drowning. Kurt remains close at hand, keeping eyes on both of them. Vasco too, finds reasons to stroll between port and manor frequently. Petrus is called back to Theleme, and expresses his best wishes before his leave. Aphra, a week after his departure, is summoned back to Hikmet. Two days after that, Siora receives word of possible missionaries back in their village, and begs off. 

De Sardet knows the rules of thumb in their line of work. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence. Three times, and it’s enemy movement.

_ What is your gut telling you?  _ He thinks of himself as he moves about the office, like it’s just another day. His gut is telling him that there are eyes on him even when there aren’t, that the chain of events he has set off is just as dangerous as any undercover mission he’s ever undertaken. Even more, because the life on the line is not his own. 

And so when the order comes in for him half a day later, slipped between the pages of a book he goes to collect from home, every alarm bell he has goes off at once. 

The order is a mission, sent by Theleme’s bureau. There are Hikmet spies operating out of warehouses in the port, they claim. Conspiring with the Nauts. They need De Sardet to come in and root them out, but to be entirely discreet.

A novice would see this mission, and go and get dressed. Put on the blades and find the appropriate change of clothes to help them blend in with the Nauts. They would go, and in the wake of their departure, Constantin would  _ die.  _

De Sardet is not a novice, and he did not earn his rank by being stupid. Many of the footpads once called him paranoid, and even a Master of three cautioned him against assuming someone was always out to get him. And yet, those assumptions, that  _ paranoia  _ have saved his life more times than he can count. 

And so he is paranoid here too - three times is enemy movement, and Ansel can find his ties easily enough. Remove his minders - Siora, Aphra, Petrus, and he imagines soon Vasco and Kurt will be called away for other reasons, leaving him the lone guardian in charge - and he is terribly vulnerable. There are a thousand ways into the manor, just as there are a thousand ways out. With the right skills, anyone can be in or out without ever being seen.

De Sardet makes a decision.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Once is happenstance.

Twice, coincidence.

Three times is enemy action.

Against his palm, Constantin’s breath is a faint, silent thing. The weight of him against De Sardet’s chest is heavy, reassuring. De Sardet doesn’t blink, doesn’t dare move the slightest bit. 

Mere inches from their hiding spot, someone who is not of the household stands over the bed, and puts a blade over the throat of the body lying there. A blond man, who looks like Constantin in the darkness, delighted to have been brought to dinner and offered a night in the governor’s bed. A copycat De Sardet had found out about who was into gambling and drinking and assaulting women.

A sacrifice that will not be missed. 

True to expectation, Kurt and Vasco have been called back. De Sardet is the only person standing between Constantin and Ansel’s machinations now. 

And Ansel is playing for keeps. 

There’s a wet gurgle in the darkness. Constantin’s eyes screw tight, a movement that won’t give them away, and De Sardet knows from experience how awful that sound is the first few times. Then the sound stops, and the boots step away from the bed. They face away from De Sardet and Constantin. 

_ Now. _

Silently, De Sardet slips from beneath the bed. The window is unlocked, and well-oiled. Constantin clings tightly to him as they slip outside. Fingers digging into the brick, De Sardet shuts the window behind him. And then descends down, inch by terrifying inch, nothing but his grip to keep them from plummeting to their deaths. It is a grip De Sardet has honed over five years, ruthlessly, and it has not failed him. He has done this before, and now does it again.

Ansel can turn the manor upside down, but he will not find Constantin. And the others will hear of their disappearance, and put two and two together, assuming they haven’t already. 

De Sardet predicts the man in the bedroom will want to see Constantin’s face, to provide solid proof that Constantin is dead. And he knows that even as a Master, it is recommended to take a troop of novices, or footpads along as additional guards and support, and spread them across a wide area of the target range, to prevent interference. 

The hedge maze in the back is large, and shaded by trees. Tonight, the wind blows gently, shaking the leaves, and De Sardet moves with the wind and the leaves, blending himself further into the blackness. 

Behind him, a window slams open, fifteen counts in. 

In the darkness of the hedge maze, something is breathing. It is not De Sardet. It is not Constantin. De Sardet presses himself into a tiny nook within the maze, next to a white bench meant to be a resting spot. A place where it is dark even during the day, and so becomes blacker during the night. There, he tucks Constantin’s face to his neck, and bows his head so that his hood hides him, and stills his breathing. Four bodies walk past. Two carry weapons. There is someone in the maze directly behind them. De Sardet does not move as that person seems to come right up to the fragile greenery wall, and listen. 

Perhaps they suspect something. Perhaps they, like De Sardet, know the motions and movements, and are predicting the patterns given the evidence. Or maybe they’ve just paused to listen, to make sure Constantin isn’t fleeing through the maze. 

Eventually, they move on. And as they move, so too does De Sardet, who counts thirty-five counts now, and knows if he is still here at forty-five, he will be trapped. 

He moves with the leaves and the wind, and pauses to listen. Wrapped in a spare cloak, legs tucked up close, Constantin blends into him seamlessly, remaining pliantly wrapped around him as De Sardet trains his body to move even with the additional weight. They cross six more footpads, and two more novices in their silent escape of the maze, and then they are out, among tall swaying stalks of corn and golden fields of wheat that glow silver under the light of the moon.

Instinct tells him that he is beyond the range of detection. De Sardet lifts up just slightly, and moves quicker, but no less silently. And then abruptly sits down, utterly frozen, as he catches something in the corner of his gaze.

There is one more. Among the reeds and the corn, they move as De Sardet does. With the wind, and the bowing stalks, instead of against. Dressed in dark browns, and pale greens. Meant to blend into foliage.

A fellow Master.

They aren’t more than four paces away. Slowly shifting through the grasses, moving past De Sardet. Not paying him any attention. The wind stops. The Master does as well.

And then together they sit. Silent. Waiting.

When the wind moves again, the Master does not move on. They sway with the wind, and so too does De Sardet, but they do not move on. Neither does De Sardet. They haven’t been caught yet, but if they move, they will be.

Behind, additional movement. The novices and the footpads are coming back, and the heavy tred of boots tells De Sardet that the assassin in the room is coming with him. 

If they come to the field, De Sardet won’t be able to hide. He can’t stay.

He has worked miracles before, according to Ansel. Done the impossible.

Now, he does so again. 

Not picking up his feet, he slides his foot forward the tiniest bit. And then slides the other foot. 

The Master does not turn. They keep swaying with the wind. Behind, the crunch of leaves and feet grow louder. They are no longer attempting to hide. De Sardet moves with the wind, rocking and swaying, and sliding away, holding his breath and trusting in skills that earned him a Mastery in five years. Constantin isn’t even a thought against him. He weighs nothing in this moment, poised on the tip of a balance so razor-sharp it could cut even diamonds to slivers. 

He can’t stay. He can’t make a sound. He can’t move.

But he can’t stay.

_ You would be so great, if you would just let this childish obsession of yours go, De Sardet. _

For Constantin, he would move the tides, break the earth, raze the sky. For Constantin, he will work this miracle, and get them away. 

“He’s gone!”

_ Keep moving. Don’t waste time. Go. _

“What do you mean--”

“I mean the bastard in the bed wasn’t him! Master Ansel said something like this would happen--”

“So we’re not getting paid then? Jon, you said--”

“--fucker’s a coward!”

“De Sardet is a Master Assassin. Have you all forgotten that?”

Behind him, the Master stands. He is tall, towering over the others, but De Sardet doesn’t stop to think if he’s met him before. “Which means he moves, acts, thinks like a Master Assassin. I daresay he likely predicted this even before Ansel left the building that night.”

“So we wasted our time and our blades for nothing, then?”

“Your blades? ...Jon, tell me what Ansel told you. Did he tell you merely to restrain, and humiliate?”

“I...no, sir. He said the slit the bastard’s throat. Send a message to De Sardet.”

“That is most curious. Because he told  _ me,  _ a fellow Master, that he wanted only to humiliate the little d’Orsay. Not hurt. Certainly not kill. Which means that Ansel is playing with  _ fire,  _ and a very hot fire at that, like the novice that he is.”

“Master Ansel--”

“Quiet, Malthe. We are not dealing with an ordinary brother. We all know De Sardet is the bigger threat here, let’s not even begin to kid ourselves. The man gained his rank in five years. He is the youngest of us, and his accolades speak for themselves. Which is why we are dropping this hunt, starting now. If Liggit wants De Sardet’s attention so badly, he can come fight this battle himself. Rowan, Brian, round up the others. We’re going back. I will be speaking to the Elders about this matter.”

De Sardet doesn’t stop. He keeps moving. Behind him, there’s another argument starting up. Something about the Prince, about the Congregation. Constantin breathes harshly into his neck, clinging tight. 

_ Keep moving. You have to keep him safe. The world is your enemy right now - so get him to safety, and then worry about Ansel.  _

Through the fields, into the forest on the other side. He creeps, silent as a church mouse, and continues to creep through the night. He doesn’t stop even when his legs began to tremble, and his arms ache sharply. Even when a stitch forms in his side, he does not stop. Throughout the night, he pushes on, until he is out beyond the boundaries of New Serene, deep in the true wilds, and only then does he straighten up, still carrying Constantin. 

As he walks, he thinks. Ansel will be infuriated over the failure, over the disappearance of his target. Just as before, he will send men after them, to try to kill Constantin, to stop De Sardet. Any major cities would be impossible to bunk down in - the bureaus would send word where to find him if asked, because they aren’t aware of what’s going on. The safehouses would be the same. Easy pickings. 

Were it just De Sardet, he would go, because he can match Ansel easy in a fight, if not surpass. But it isn’t just him. He must think about Constantin before his own desire for retribution.

The wilds are open and vast. Impossible to chart which way he will go, where he will hide, even among the villages. And so the only option is to stick to the wilds, and keep moving. Keep his ear to the ground, and listen. Hopefully the others will understand. Kurt especially - he’s likely going to blow his top when he learns what’s happened in his absence. He’d argued the hardest against being pulled back, but he still had to obey the Coin Guard commanders. 

_ “Don’t do anything rash, Green Blood,”  _ he’d ordered. And now here De Sardet is, doing something rash. It’s a situation he hates being in, because rashness brings misery and pain. But he has no choice - if he stands still, he risks losing his world. 

He finally has to stop when dawn creeps up over the hills. Exhaustion weighs heavy on him; Constantin is already asleep in his arms, utterly at peace, even on the run. The knowledge that Constantin trusts him enough to fall asleep when they’re being hunted sends shivers down his spine. He finds a camp site, and how ironic that it’s one of the ones he set up for de Courcillon earlier, and it serves him well now. Lays Constantin down and ducks away briefly to get a fire going, and then fetch material for a rough bed. Straw and grasses woven with leaves, not the most comfortable, but better than sleeping on the ground. Constantin doesn’t stir once, and so De Sardet gets him settled and then tucks himself down, finally pulling his hood off. 

He’s half-asleep, chin propped against a fist, when the thought finds him. The logic of it is enough to bring him back to wakefulness. Because he’d said it before, hadn’t he? He’d said the answer already, with Petrus and Vasco, back on the balcony.

Ansel is a Master Assassin. He has employed another Master Assassin, several footpads and novices on his quest to kill Constantin. Which means there is paperwork - documentation - of his attempts to kill Prince d’Orsay’s  _ son,  _ and thereby break oath with the Congregation. The fact that the assassination attempt happened at all means that somehow, Ansel has snuck the paperwork through the official channels. 

It means that if he can find the written order - because there is  _ always  _ a written order - and present it to the Elders--

He doesn’t laugh. That would be cliche, and more importantly would wake Constantin up. But he grins, wild and hungry in a way nobody at the courts have ever seen before, and would be alarmed to see. And to think, Ansel once referred to him as a miracle worker. As an  _ exceptional assassin of unique talent.  _

And now all that exceptional, miracle-working, unique talent is going to be turned right back against him. Ansel wants his attention? His undivided, unwavering notice? He will have it. Every last ounce of it, coming to bear against the man who has threatened Constantin. 

And he will be made to regret every instant.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Lars Dalgaard is an Elder of several years. Like De Sardet, he is the youngest of his rank, but unlike De Sardet he earned his title by slaughter. The story goes that on his twenty-ninth year, when he was fixing to become a full-fledged Assassin, the Order had sprung a trap and killed almost everybody in his Brotherhood. Lars and a handful of other novices had survived, Lars having hidden them away in the cellars, blocking the doors and preventing entry. 

They had survived, and Lars, following his flight from a city swamped by the enemy to another Brotherhood, having ensured the novices survived, had been made Elder for his wisdom, and talent, and survival instinct. A great honor that since, he has proven worthy of.

And so it is Lars that De Sardet goes to, that he kneels to, papers tucked tight in one hand, that he presents the evidence to and explains the entire situation before. And Lars listens, grey eyes rivaling a sea-storm, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He flicks a hand to one of the nearby novices to bring De Sardet a drink when he begins to croak, and gestures another to bring a chair, and then himself steps down from the dias and lays a hand on De Sardet’s shoulder, tight and comforting.

“I will nail him to the wall for this, De Sardet,” Lars vows, voice steely and cold, and De Sardet lets out a breath he forgot he was holding, sagging beneath the Elder’s hand. “He had no right to make that call. Bad enough to bring the Congregation’s wrath on us, but to attempt to take out the Prince’s son and yourself in a foolish bid for attention… no. I will have his ass, his rank, and his  _ head  _ for this, mark my words. Where is your man now?”

“Hidden.” He’d gone to Catasach’s village in the end, begged the healer to hide his cousin and explained the situation. Catasach had been livid, and had vowed that so long as even a single member of their tribe lived, they would not let the assassins take Constantin. Constantin had agreed to stay hidden until De Sardet came back and collected him. 

“Wise of you. Ansel has always been a pain in my side, but most Masters usually are in some way or another. This goes beyond the pale.” He shakes his dark head. “Stripping him of rank will not suffice. He has endangered us in ways very few can, or have.”

“What would you have me do?”

“For now, nothing. Unfortunately, this is politics, and being a man of politics yourself, you know how long this will take. But even if the other Elders refuse to grant me this, I will still send that rat back to Serene in haste. He will not trouble you again, one way or another.”

“Will you inform the Prince?”

“ _ I  _ would, but my fellows will doubtlessly be less keen to do so.”

Not surprising, given if Prince d’Orsay learned what had very nearly happened, wrath and hellfire would come down. Despite what Constantin thinks, the Prince does love him. De Sardet knows that, has seen it, even if Constantin hasn’t. “Regardless, thank you for your assistance, Elder Dalgaard. You’ve given me more hope than I’ve had in a while.”

“You’re being rather dramatic. I’m certain that even if you had not come to us, you still would have found a way to stop him. Granted, it likely would have taken twice as long, involved more blood and bodies, and would have ended in a needlessly lengthy trial at the end of it. But the solution would have presented itself accordingly. Thankfully, it has not come to that. Be on your way, De Sardet. We will ensure that Ansel does not cross your path again. And he does not bother your cousin.”

Lars sees him out safely, and six hours later he’s back in Wenshaveye, back in Catasach’s abode, listening to Constantin pester the amused healer with half a dozen questions. It’s clear, at least to De Sardet’s eyes, and the two get along rather well.

“Well? Is it over? Can we go back home now?” Constantin asks, as soon as he draws close. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m not. Elder Lars was displeased with what I told him, and after giving him proof, he has sworn that they and theirs will deal with Ansel accordingly. He’s put them all in a bind, targeting us as he has. If even one of us had perished in his plot, the Prince would have ruined them. So needless to say, they are grateful for my coming to them.”

“I’m just glad you weren’t hurt in this ridiculous jealousy scheme of his. Honestly. How many of these kinds of stories did we hear growing up? You’d think if he’s heard even a fraction of them, he’d know better than to act this way.”

“It’s one thing to hear it, another thing to live it,” De Sardet cautions. To Catasach, he bows and says, “Thank you for taking care of my cousin. I owe you a favor or two for this. I hope my cousin didn’t drive you mad during my absence.”

“Hey!”

“Not at all,” Catasach reassures, smiling. “It was pleasant to be pestered by someone eager to learn things, for once. And there are no favors owed between us,  _ carants.  _ Brothers do not hold favors over each other.” He reaches out, and De Sardet clasps his forearm, and feels a strong sense of  _ reassurance  _ from him. “Take care on the long road, both of you. And do not hesitate to seek us out if you need help again. We will do what we can.”

“Peace go with you,  _ doneigad.  _ May the trees on your path always bear fruit.”

“May the grass always be soft beneath your feet, De Sardet, Constantin.”

They leave the village the way they came, and as soon as the village is little more than a wisp of smoke on the horizon behind them, Constantin speaks. “It’s over now, right? Your Elders are going to take care of this business for good, and we can go back to our normal lives where I don’t need to be kidnapped out of my own house for fear of death?”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to say something about that.” He’s surprised he hasn’t heard more complaining, but smiles nevertheless as he turns to his cousin, who stares at him with wide, trusting eyes. “And as much as I want to believe that yes, everything will go smoothly and the Elders will make Ansel back down, in truth I doubt it. I said it back at the beginning, but Ansel isn’t the type to give up easily.”

“But these are his Elders - er, your Elders, right? So fighting back--”

“There’s no need to fight back if they can’t find him.”

Constantin pauses, taking in De Sardet’s words. “You don’t think they’re going to catch him, do you,” he whispers, and De Sardet  _ hates  _ the little tremble of breathless fear in his voice, the catch as he realizes what De Sardet is telling him. “You think he’s going to… to try again.”

“At the very least, we’ve lowered his numbers. He won’t be able to coax anyone else into helping him in his mad schemes,  _ if  _ I’m wrong and he pursues it. I could always be wrong, Constantin.”

“I doubt it. You never are, with these types of things. Even if we both wish you would be.” Above them, the sky is beginning to darken. They’ll have enough time to reach the camp De Sardet made the other night, and then they’ll have to wait until dawn to continue. “So. It’s over, but not really. All you’ve done is driven him into a corner. Which, we both know the old saying.”

“The cornered rat bites the cat. Ansel is nothing if not the cornered rat in this instance. I’ll have Kurt increase guards in the area, and I’ll stay at the palace in the meantime. I’m sorry I can’t do much more.”

Constantin stops him, cupping his face between his hands and pressing their foreheads together like they did when they were younger. “You carried me to safety in the dead of night, and even now you are trying to keep me from getting hurt. You, my lucky star, have absolutely  _ nothing  _ to apologize for. It is I who should be sorry - sorry I keep drawing trouble to you, sorry I can’t do more, sorry that it takes such effort to keep me safe.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve sworn to always fish you out of your fires, haven’t I? This is just another fire. Granted it’s more on my end than yours. Still, we’ll get through this.” He bumps their foreheads together lightly, and then draws back. “Come on. We need to reach the camp before it gets too dark to see.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Their re-arrival in New Serene goes off without a hitch - at least that’s what De Sardet likes to think, as they sneak back inside somewhere close to dawn. But he’s taken less than two steps into the throne room before instinct has him rolling to duck a blow meant to take his head off. He whirls to face the attacker, shoving Constantin behind him as he readies to fight, and finds himself facing Kurt, who looks like he’s been the one to suffer the blow. 

“ _ You two,”  _ he snarls, and his blade drops, but not his hands. Within seconds De Sardet finds an iron grip on the nape of his neck, lightly shaking him and Constantin both as Kurt demands, “Where in the bloody hell have you two been?!”

“Hiding!” Constantin squeaks, ever the first to cower in Kurt’s presence. “If you’d allow us to explain--”

“I had to get Constantin out,” De Sardet tells him bluntly, laying a hand on the arm shaking him. Kurt fixes his gaze to his face, listening intently. “They came for him, Kurt. I took him and ran, and I’m sorry if we scared you, but I knew something was happening when you were all pulled back, and I wasn’t about to let Ansel win. I’ve just gotten back from speaking to the Elders. They’re going to deal with him.”

“But is it the end of this mess?” Kurt asks, low. There’s nobody around them, but he speaks in soft tones like they’re in danger of being overheard. “This Ansel - is he going to be a problem anymore, De Sardet?”

Again, that urge to say  _ no, the Elders won’t let him.  _ But no, that’s naivety that is no longer afforded to someone of his rank. “Likely so. Even if I wish he wasn’t, if the Elders are hunting for him and he knows it, he’ll go to ground until some of this blows over. Or until he can get close enough to try something else.” With any luck  _ that  _ won’t become a reality - if anything were to happen to Constantin…

“So it’s Hermann all over again,” Kurt murmurs. “Fine. We’ll deal with it just as we did him then. Your Ansel, does he have any close friends who might know where he is?”

Several names immediately come to mind - Ansel had been a teacher for several years before De Sardet’s arrival, after all - but only two linger on while the rest drop away. “Ace and Vang. They’re a pair of older assassins that usually hang around with him. Last I heard, Vang is stationed here in New Serene, but Ace was reassigned to Hikmet. Don’t ask me why.”

Kurt lets out a breath. “Hell’s bells,” he says. “This is so strange, looking at this mess from the outside. Is this what I was like for you? Dealing with Torsten and his ilk?”

“Hardly. That was easy, compared to this. Coup d’etats usually are. They either go one way or another. But people? Different ball game.”

“A harsh truth,” Kurt acknowledges. “Right. You, Constantin, stay  _ here.  _ The others were allowed back the day you two went missing, and they should be able to hold down the fort while we go question this Vang. Where is our fellow assassin normally found?”

“The ports. They’ve family among the Nauts - biological family. Whether Se Tuab welcomes us, I can’t say, but they don’t lie.”

“Will they be of the mind to help Ansel avoid you?”

“Hardly. Assassins are family, but in the case of something like this, we tell each other the truth. Masters are rare as is - two of them going to bat against each other? It’s practically unheard of. No, I don’t think on this matter we’ll have too much difficulty.”

“At least there’s that. This nonsense has gone on long enough.”

“Right you are, Kurt,” Constantin agrees, settling back into his chair. “Cousin, please,  _ do  _ be careful. I know now that your skills are sharp, and I have no doubt that if it comes to a fight, you can handle yourself. But don’t take unnecessary risks. Even one scratch on you is too much.”

“I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Kurt reassures, and De Sardet doesn’t doubt that. Shared history like this doesn’t allow for many thoughts of throwing each other to the wolves. “On my hip, De Sardet, just like when you were a whelp. I won’t have you giving your stalker any easy pickings.”

“It’s not me he wants to hurt.”

“Maybe not, but you’re the one being stubborn about not letting him have you. Surely you don’t think the entirety of that frustration will remain bound to Constantin?”

For a moment, De Sardet allows himself to empathize. Tries to imagine himself in Ansel’s shoes, desperate to catch the attention of someone he’s held close for so many years, only for that person to rebuff him, first harshly, and then yet harsher by dragging other people -  _ outsiders,  _ one might think - into the mess. How frustrated, upset he might be. With that in mind, he can very easily see what Kurt sees. It would no longer be his immediate concern to kill the one that holds the attention of the one he wants - but perhaps instead to seek out the party that has rebuffed him, and attempt to reason. Attempt to coax, to flatter, to seduce perhaps. Something. Anything to make them  _ see reason  _ as he does.

Kurt reads his expressions like a book, and just nods, grim, when De Sardet blinks out of that mindset. 

The front door opens, and Aphra’s voice hits him first. “You’re alright!”

“Thank the Illuminated,” Petrus breathes, and comes to look them both over. Constantin bears it well. “You are both safe.”

“Of course we are. My lucky star came to my rescue once again. Really cousin, this damsel-in-distress attitude is beginning to suit me at the rate we’re going.”

“That was quite the trick you pulled, De Sardet,” Vasco tells him as they’re heading for the door, leaving Aphra and Petrus to see to Constantin. Aphra wants a retelling. Petrus is frowning as he listens to Constantin weave the story - no doubt with plenty of emphasis on his  _ daring rescue.  _ “I can’t begin to tell you how heart-stopping it was, to come back after being falsely pulled aside and told both our governor and legate had vanished without a trace, and there was a copycat with his throat slit in Constantin’s bed. Truly, that was a… unique way to be woken.”

De Sardet winces. Vasco doesn’t look it, but there are thunderclouds behind his eyes, a storm rolling back on itself, gathering strength. No doubt he’ll be getting quite the chewing from multiple people once this is all over. And he’ll take it gladly, because he  _ did  _ pull off quite the trick, and probably scared the life out of most of the household in the process. “If you will allow me to settle Ansel’s issue, I will gladly set myself at your mercy at a time of your choosing later down the line. But I must see to our safety first, Vasco.”

“So long as you understand that I  _ will  _ be taking you up on that offer, De Sardet,” Vasco says lightly, and the storm shows the might of itself. “And when it happens, you will likely need a pillow to sit on, because you shan’t be leaving until I and Kurt both have gotten out every last word we mean to say. Which, between the two of us, shall take quite a while.”

No doubt both men intend to point out every last failure and missed choice he could have made in this flight. Every ‘easier’ method to dealing with the problem, like a bullet between the eyes.

Unfortunately, this is the downside of belonging to a secondary guild with goals different to that of the Congregation. “And I will listen to you both, and take your lessons to heart. I daresay if this goes on much longer, the Elders will also be yelling at me. So you will have to get in line.”

“Pox on ‘em,” Vasco snarls, and for a moment De Sardet thinks the storm is going to break, and he will drown beneath Vasco’s temper. “They can wait their bloody turn. We were here first.”

But no. Vasco takes in a deep breath, and says, “Go. And don’t come back until you’ve solved this issue,” and then turns on heel and sharply strides to Constantin, who smiles and then quickly melts back in his chair in the face of whatever Vasco says to him.

No doubt he’s left his cousin to a cruel fate. But this matter must be dealt with. All exits covered, so to speak.

“Right. Let’s head for the port. Lead on, Kurt.”

Vang, it turns out, has heard the news through the grapevine, and is only too happy to tell them what they know about Ansel’s last location.

“He spouted some cryptic horseshit about ‘making the legate see reason’. That’s all I heard. But if I had to take a guess? He’s holed up here in New Serene. Likely not far from wherever you’re staying. And if I was the type to bet, I’d put my money on him catching you unawares sooner rather than later. Walk lightly, brother. His shadow has darkened considerably since last you spoke.”

Which is Vang’s way of telling him  _ he’s completely out of his mind, and ready to do anything to persuade you.  _

“My thanks, Vang. May the shadows guard and protect you, always.”

“May your steps be light, De Sardet. See you at the next meeting.”

“Right,” Kurt murmurs as they leave, a few Nauts throwing them cautious glances. One wanders over to Vang and speaks, but Vang shakes their head, gestures impatiently. “So. It’s not a matter of if, but when. How do you want to go about this?”

“We assume the element of surprise is lost. So instead, we focus on setting the battlefield to our advantage. Help me out here.”

“Aye?”

“Think like you want me, Kurt. Think like I’m all you desire, and you are willing to carve a bloody path through this entire island if it means you can have me. Where would  _ you,  _ a man well-versed in tactics and combat, corner me? And how?”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“De Sardet. Please, wait.”

Vang was right about one thing - Ansel  _ is  _ out of his head. His arrogance has translated even across that however, and that is why when his front door is unlocked nearly close to one in the morning, De Sardet doesn’t run. He stands his ground, impassively pretending to read a book in front of a roaring fire on the couch as Ansel Liggit staggers in like he’s drunk, hands reaching out to him. De Sardet waits until he’s nearly on top of him, and then smoothly rolls over the back of the couch and away, landing on his feet with the couch between them, his back to the fire. 

Ansel’s eyes gleam with madness. “Please,” he whispers. “Please, just  _ listen.  _ You don’t need to speak. Just listen, please. You don’t understand - you have it all wrong, what I want.”

“You want Constantin dead.”

“Not necessarily,” Ansel tells him, lying through his teeth. It’s so easy to see, now that De Sardet’s eyes are open. Ansel’s own gaze is locked onto his mouth, barely blinking. “I just want him out of the way. He doesn’t deserve you, De Sardet. You’re terribly clever, you know, and-and bold! You deserve someone of equal standing. Someone who can fill the void inside you.”

He takes a step forward. De Sardet does not move. 

“And what makes you think I have a void in me, Liggit? That I need someone other than the people I already have surrounding me?”

“Ansel. Please.”

“Liggit. Answer the question.”

Ansel’s gaze flicks up, and then returns to his mouth. Drifts lower, and De Sardet doesn’t flinch, even as his stomach clenches in disgust. He thinks back on the poisoned wine that started this whole mess. How easily Ansel could have had him, if he’d plotted with a more subtle hand. 

Ansel, perhaps sensing he isn’t going to coax De Sardet into using his first name, sighs softly. “I’ve seen men like you before, you know. Men and women. They act like they’re lone ships out on the sea, like vast, untamable islands that no one may ever set foot on. But they all want the same thing, deep down. Someone who can match them, temper them. Ground them. A whetstone to sharpen themselves against. Constantin d’Orsay is too soft a man for your needs, legate. But me? We’re of the same dark blood, you and I.”

He slows his steps as he rounds the couch. De Sardet still does not move. Perhaps Ansel thinks him shocked, thinks him afraid. Or maybe his madness translates this whole thing as coyness. As being too  _ shy  _ to take. And so in his head, Ansel must be the one to approach, must be the older gentleman to guide a virgin like De Sardet through the necessary motions. 

Except De Sardet is no shy virgin, and Ansel is no knight in shining armor come to whisk him away to better things. He is a monster, and De Sardet has a habit of killing monsters.

“I could be whatever you need. Whatever you  _ want.  _ I wouldn’t mind, you know. But all this dancing about-” he waves a hand in the air around him. “Dragging the Elders into it, and sneaking around in the dead of night like a hunted thing. It’s a bit much, you know. If you wanted a chase, you only needed to ask.”

He’s close enough for De Sardet to feel the heat coming off his body. Drawing closer. Eyes, terrible and bright, fixed on De Sardet’s face. De Sardet still does not move. “I don’t care about little d’Orsay. If you want him alive, he can stay, I suppose. We’ll need a puppet king anyhow, to keep the Prince from realizing the truth of what we’re doing. Naturally, I can’t stop you from visiting, or talking to him, and I won’t try. I know you, De Sardet. You’re as willful as the wind - and nobody tells the wind what to do.” 

Hands, clammy, likely from fear, touch his face. De Sardet lets Ansel draw close. Lets their foreheads touch, even as his skin crawls. Only three people have ever done this to him, and all three are men he’d trust his heart with. “You’re so beautiful like this. So quiet.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Good. You should have done that back at the beginning, but we still got here. We have time now. So take your time. Think it over. I can be patient.”

_ Unlikely,  _ De Sardet thinks, but doesn’t say. “What did you mean, about a puppet king, and the Prince? Have the Elders given an order?”

“No. No, but it’s clear, isn’t it? What you want. I told you, De Sardet, I  _ know  _ you. You don’t need to play coy. You’re the man behind the curtain. Pulling all the strings, making everyone dance to your tune. But you need d’Orsay to hide what you’re doing, to make it seem like he’s the one making all the right choices. But it’s you, isn’t it beloved? I know you. And I think it's a wonderful idea. Imagine, the two of us, side-by-side, ruling this place.”

Above, the smallest, lightest noise, like the foundations settling. De Sardet doesn’t move, instead acts like he didn’t hear it, even as it comes again.

“I really can’t fool you, can I. How pitiful.”

It’s not.” Liggit’s hand brushes his cheek, a caress that from any other man, De Sardet might welcome. “You can’t fool me, but I know you’re used to holding people at arm's length. It’s expected from such a prized legate as yourself. And there’s nothing wrong with that - I know it’ll take time for you to get used to trusting me. I can be patient.”

De Sardet finally steps back. The house creaks again. “Not enough. Not patient enough to hold off invading my private sanctuary. Not patient enough not to send men out to try to kill Constantin in his bed. Not patient enough to leave me to decide my own desires  _ on my own.  _ You aren’t patient, Liggit. And there is  _ nothing  _ in you that I desire, be it in a teacher or a partner.”

“You don’t mean that.” Ansel steps close again, chasing after him. De Sardet turns on heel and strides towards the staircase. He feels the exact moment Ansel  _ snaps  _ \- the moment his temper rears up over the dismissal, and he lunges--

Kurt strikes fast, strikes mean. His fist hits Ansel’s jaw hard enough to snap the man’s head back, and there’s no doubt he’s unconscious before he hits the ground. His body hits the carpet hard enough to make the furniture rattle, but he stays down. 

“I cannot begin to tell you how satisfying that was,” Kurt says. He looks De Sardet over. “I know I don’t need to guard your virtue, but I think if there’s ever been a bastard worthy of a response, its him. You alright?”

“I need a hard drink,” De Sardet answers wryly. “But that will take place after we hand him over to the Elders. Lars will be livid.”

“Because he didn’t catch him?”

“That, but also that Liggit was bold enough to stride through my front door like he owns it, and I didn’t set him on fire.”

Kurt snorts. “I think I should like to meet this Lars of yours. I suspect he and I will get along.”

“On that fact, you aren’t wrong. Help me get his legs. The sooner we get him out of here, the happier I’ll feel. You have the horses?”

“On standby, freshest ones the guard could get on short notice. If we push them, we should just make it, and then we can take a day of rest. Assuming this bastard doesn’t slip his noose again, we can take our time coming back.”

“Oh believe me,” De Sardet says darkly, helping Kurt toss the body over the back of one of the two horses waiting outside. The horse snorts and stomps a hoof, but doesn’t move. “He won’t be seeing the light of day ever again after this.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Two weeks later finds De Sardet back in a familiar scene; a crowded ballroom, Constantin with his adoring crowd, and De Sardet sipping from a glass of wine that has been poisoned.

It’s damn near rote at this point, he thinks with a touch of cynicism. Constantin throws some little get-together as demanded by his upraising, people show up wanting to simper and sneer behind hands, and put poison in the wine. The only difference is that today, Constantin has begged off drinking anything, claiming he has been feeling a bit sickly, and doesn’t want to risk making it worse. The crowds, unable to disagree without appearing at best rude and at worst plotting, nod and smile and wish him well.

Kurt drifts through the room with his men, keeping eyes on both sides of them. Constantin keeps his eyes moving too - one on De Sardet, and the other on the Dinsmore’s eldest girl, who has once again shown up despite her name not being on the guest list.

Over the past two weeks, De Sardet has done some poking around. He was right in that Lars was beyond livid upon Ansel’s body being dumped in front of him like a cat dropping a dead canary by its master’s feet. He was equally right in that Ansel will never see the light of day again. But he was wrong in just how many moves Ansel had been able to make to manipulate the confrontation. As it turned out, Ansel has been trying to take Constantin’s life for damn near ten years now. Ever since De Sardet’s refusal to kill him. 

Jealousy is one thing. Jealousy is an emotion De Sardet understands - how could he not, when he has given his heart to multiple people? But irrational, unhinged madness like what Ansel displayed is… frightening. 

Ansel had deep pockets, and a cruel streak a mile wide. The Dinsmore family specializes in wine - and their eldest daughter has just turned eighteen. Yet, she has three children, ages three, two, and the one that still sits in her womb, hidden for now by the layers of fabric she wraps around herself. A man like Ansel would pay quite a bit to get his hands on someone like De Sardet, willing or not. To put a man like Constantin in his place. 

And the cruelty to punish any family that told him  _ no. _

De Sardet has found the parents - their business has never been better. Their clothing is finer, their house, well-furnished. Their servants and dressed in better clothing, treated better.

But their eldest daughter has no pictures on the wall. No mention of her in the gallery. When De Sardet asked about her, he received word that she was dead, despite having seen her before. 

Lydia Dinsmore would normally be the type of woman who would attract suitors. She is tall, yes, dark-haired, with a sharp hawkish nose and stern eyebrows. But she smiles now and again, and it softens her. And she carries herself with a grace most would be envious of, or find appealing.

But her eyes are like shattered mirrors. Hollowed out, gutted. Three children, none of whom she wanted, but that she bore into the world because she had no choice. And her parents, recognizing their backs were to a wall, capitulated to the desires of a madman hungry for someone else. But even then, it wasn’t enough, because Ansel was the type to let word run. And so people hear that Lydia Dinsmore has been sleeping around, that she has been  _ sullied,  _ and the Dinsmore family cut her out of the family so she will not make their business suffer any more. 

De Sardet is a diplomat. He is not a justicer. He can’t drag Ansel Liggit before the courts of the realm, and present the evidence he has found in front of a judge, and get Lydia Dinsmore handed a hefty sum of money to pay for the children, for herself. But what he can do is drip words in the right people’s ears, and tell them that Lydia Dinsmore is not a whore, but a victim. That she was raped thrice against her will, and while De Sardet has dealt with the rapist, he cannot approach Lydia without making it seem predatory. 

But Petrus can, and does. 

In the reflection of the window, De Sardet watches as Petrus draws Lydia away, and speaks softly to her. As her expression changes. She is angry, and then horrified, and then tired. She does not cry, but it is clear Petrus has reached the core of her, so very tired and upset. But De Sardet also sees the tiny spark of hope that weaves its way into her expression. Petrus is a professional, and so he speaks, and the hope gets stronger, kindled by kindness and by mercy she should not have gained otherwise. By a mercy De Sardet cultivates within himself, because he refuses to be a monster.

She glances over at him, just once. Meets his gaze in the glass. He inclines his head just so, and she shifts into the smallest curtsey she can without giving away she is doing so. There are no words exchanged - but De Sardet knows the next time a gathering occurs, the wine will not be tainted. At least not by Dinsmore hands.

And in the meantime, De Sardet will keep his wits sharp, his blades sharper, and his eyes wide, ready for the next person to take aim at Constantin d’Orsay.


End file.
